Read Online A Preacher's daughter for the smitten Duke (Regency Romance) (Regency Tales Book 6) by Regina Darcy - Free Book Online
Authors: Regina Darcy
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himself as the set came to an end. Giving himself a mental shake, he tried again, as he escorted her back to where her mother stood anxiously waiting.
“I would be honoured if you would dance the evening’s final set with me, Miss Alexander,” he said, managing to keep his tone cool and even.
Phoebe looked up into his dark brown eyes, and he wished he knew what she saw. Instead, she looked away and said coldly, “If my dance card has not since been filled, my lord, I will happily oblige.”
She walked away then, leaving him standing at the edge of the dance floor feeling like all kinds of a fool. She was haughty and dismissive, and though it burned in his gut, he could not fault her. He had been no less as they danced, unable to speak even ordinary pleasantries because he was so undone by the fragrance of her that bloomed in his nostrils each time she exhaled. And her beauty took his breath away. Her deep auburn hair fell in endearing ringlets about her face, and down her back, and her green eyes sparkled with animus the longer they had danced together. And when she had dismissed him just now, they had shone with active disdain...and hurt.
He walked out to the balcony, where he knew he would be alone...almost everyone was dancing, or watching the dancing, or playing cards in the adjoining room. He needed to be alone, to get himself in control.
He struggled with anger that a mere chit of a girl could treat him with such barely disguised contempt, while finding himself unable to deny how strongly attracted to that same chit he was. He wished he could overcome this unwelcome weakness that made him clam up in the presence of beautiful women of substance. He knew who he was, what he was worth. He knew that, in the eyes of the ton he was considered quite the catch. He knew all this, but found it did nothing to bolster his confidence with the one person in whose company he most needed to be assertive. Where Phoebe Alexander was concerned, he was a total wreak.
“What on earth are you doing out here by yourself, old chap? You’ve been missing for upwards of half an hour.” The Viscount’s voice interrupted his shame and self-castigation, and he turned to him with a frown.
“I think I may have topped myself this evening, Wiltshire,” he said. “It might have been better all round if you hadn’t tried to play Cupid this time.”
The Viscount of Wiltshire, observed the downcast features of his close friend with some concern. “Whatever’s the matter, man?” he asked, moving to stand by the Earl, a glass of brandy in his hand.
“I have managed to affront yet another charming woman,” Lord Beckton replied. “This time, the one I least wish to offend.”
“Are we talking about the delectable morsel that is Phoebe Alexander?”
Lord Wiltshire had lowered his voice to a sultry softness, and the Earl moved away from his side, to prevent himself from punching his friend on the nose.
“She is not a piece of meat!” Lord Beckton hissed at his friend through clenched teeth. “I would prefer it if you would refrain from mentioning her name in the tone of voice you use for talking of the women with whom you normally associate.” He was furious, and paused to acknowledge that a good part of it was jealousy that the Viscount seemed to be able to charm any woman he wanted because he was so amiable and devil-may-care, where he himself was a tongue-tied mass of romantic ineptitude.
“I see I am right. You are more than smitten with the lady. You really must overcome this...this problem you have, my friend. You will not win her affections if you pursue your current course of cold aloofness.”
The Viscount’s smirk was irritating in the extreme, but Lord Beckton knew that despite the amused tone of his words, he was in earnest. And he admitted that his friend was right. How was he to be the kind of man Phoebe would not despise if he couldn’t manage to string two civil words together around her, or to show his very
“I would be honoured if you would dance the evening’s final set with me, Miss Alexander,” he said, managing to keep his tone cool and even.
Phoebe looked up into his dark brown eyes, and he wished he knew what she saw. Instead, she looked away and said coldly, “If my dance card has not since been filled, my lord, I will happily oblige.”
She walked away then, leaving him standing at the edge of the dance floor feeling like all kinds of a fool. She was haughty and dismissive, and though it burned in his gut, he could not fault her. He had been no less as they danced, unable to speak even ordinary pleasantries because he was so undone by the fragrance of her that bloomed in his nostrils each time she exhaled. And her beauty took his breath away. Her deep auburn hair fell in endearing ringlets about her face, and down her back, and her green eyes sparkled with animus the longer they had danced together. And when she had dismissed him just now, they had shone with active disdain...and hurt.
He walked out to the balcony, where he knew he would be alone...almost everyone was dancing, or watching the dancing, or playing cards in the adjoining room. He needed to be alone, to get himself in control.
He struggled with anger that a mere chit of a girl could treat him with such barely disguised contempt, while finding himself unable to deny how strongly attracted to that same chit he was. He wished he could overcome this unwelcome weakness that made him clam up in the presence of beautiful women of substance. He knew who he was, what he was worth. He knew that, in the eyes of the ton he was considered quite the catch. He knew all this, but found it did nothing to bolster his confidence with the one person in whose company he most needed to be assertive. Where Phoebe Alexander was concerned, he was a total wreak.
“What on earth are you doing out here by yourself, old chap? You’ve been missing for upwards of half an hour.” The Viscount’s voice interrupted his shame and self-castigation, and he turned to him with a frown.
“I think I may have topped myself this evening, Wiltshire,” he said. “It might have been better all round if you hadn’t tried to play Cupid this time.”
The Viscount of Wiltshire, observed the downcast features of his close friend with some concern. “Whatever’s the matter, man?” he asked, moving to stand by the Earl, a glass of brandy in his hand.
“I have managed to affront yet another charming woman,” Lord Beckton replied. “This time, the one I least wish to offend.”
“Are we talking about the delectable morsel that is Phoebe Alexander?”
Lord Wiltshire had lowered his voice to a sultry softness, and the Earl moved away from his side, to prevent himself from punching his friend on the nose.
“She is not a piece of meat!” Lord Beckton hissed at his friend through clenched teeth. “I would prefer it if you would refrain from mentioning her name in the tone of voice you use for talking of the women with whom you normally associate.” He was furious, and paused to acknowledge that a good part of it was jealousy that the Viscount seemed to be able to charm any woman he wanted because he was so amiable and devil-may-care, where he himself was a tongue-tied mass of romantic ineptitude.
“I see I am right. You are more than smitten with the lady. You really must overcome this...this problem you have, my friend. You will not win her affections if you pursue your current course of cold aloofness.”
The Viscount’s smirk was irritating in the extreme, but Lord Beckton knew that despite the amused tone of his words, he was in earnest. And he admitted that his friend was right. How was he to be the kind of man Phoebe would not despise if he couldn’t manage to string two civil words together around her, or to show his very
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